


and make it double

by remaya



Series: formal courtship [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:22:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25702768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remaya/pseuds/remaya
Summary: Well, Harry thinks, that answers that question. He's definitely telling Ron and Hermione about this.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Voldemort
Series: formal courtship [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1720108
Comments: 36
Kudos: 339





	and make it double

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asterismal (asterisms)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asterisms/gifts).



> here's a little thing that doesn't explain much of anything, but it's soft. harry's 18.

Voldemort scowls. Harry, however, remains immune to how the atmosphere has darkened since he’d pulled away from Voldemort’s embrace to stare.

“I thought you were  _ joking, _ ” Harry says faintly.

“If you faint on our wedding night I’ll never let you forget it,” Voldemort threatens. As this has no effect, he clears his throat and tries again. “Technically it’s just one, split into two. Stop staring.”

Harry lifts one of the penises and leans in close to inspect where the two are connected, oblivious to Voldemort’s sharp inhale. He transfers both shafts into one hand, his fingers unable to meet around their girth, and ducks his head under.

Voldemort closes his eyes. “ _ Harry, _ ” he orders, though it is so strained that it is almost pleading.

“Where’re your balls?” Harry questions, his breath hot and lips soft against Voldemort’s erect cocks. “Do you just not have them? That’d explain why those ball-pinching curses weren’t connecting, in that fight in seventh year-- I knew my aim couldn’t be that bad. This is weird. Hermione’s books didn’t cover this.”

“My balls are internal, but this is irrelevant to the situation at hand,” Voldemort grits out. “I believe we were both very interested in the situation at hand.”

“Yeah, it is interesting,” Harry says, missing the point. He pulls back a little to regard Voldemort’s oozing cock heads curiously. “Are both of these going in me? I don’t think they’ll fit.”

Voldemort gives into temptation with a ragged groan, thrusting forward into Harry’s hand and smearing precome onto Harry’s startled expression.

“Oh,” Harry says. “You’re right. We should probably have sex now.” He doesn’t move, though.

Voldemort looks at him for a long moment. He reminds himself to be patient: they’ve been courting for four years, ever since the graveyard, and how he’d never been able to predict just how lovely Harry would grow to be, how valuable he’d become beyond the horcrux he protects.

He forces himself to say, every word a pain, “If you are nervous, I will wait until you are ready.” 

He then suffers a bout of anxiety as Harry uses his brain for once and  _ considers  _ it.

“Er,” Harry says after a while. “Well, that’s-- that’s considerate of you.”

“You sound surprised,” Voldemort observes. He holds himself stiffly, both to hide his investment in Harry’s answer and to control himself, since Harry hasn’t let go of his sensitive cocks.

Harry laughs nervously. “The Dark Lord doesn’t usually give concessions, right?”

“Your existence is a concession,” Voldemort replies. It’s the closest either of them have come to verbally admitting feelings for each other.

“Well,” Harry says. “I think I’m ready. I’ve been practicing, at least, I shouldn’t chicken out now. Even though I didn’t expect you to be quite so, you know. Large.”

Voldemort swallows, unable to reply, distracted by the mental image of Harry easing a few inexperienced fingers into himself, maybe even a dildo, touching his own cock, how he’d look touching his own cock while coming around  _ Voldemort’s _ \--

“You alright?” Harry asks him, worried, pushing up on the bed to match Voldemort’s kneeling position. He finally lets go of Voldemort’s cocks, and Voldemort is simultaneously relieved and disappointed. “If you don’t want to… I’d understand, we could just go to sleep and Dumbledore wouldn’t know--”

“Wait, no,” Voldemort says, gripping Harry by the shoulders. He briefly squeezes his eyes shut and wills his blood to return to his brain. When he opens them again, Harry is frowning at him. “I want to. Badly. But I need an enthusiastic yes,” he says, with some difficulty.

Harry’s expression clears. “Oh! Yes, then.”

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic,” Voldemort says. “If you need some time to adjust, I will not punish you.”

“You won’t just take what you want?” Harry blurts, surprised.

Voldemort scowls. He is abruptly angry. “I will not rape you; I am better than my mo-- I am better than that. I thought you knew me better than that.”

“You’re not always predictable,” Harry says, incredulous. He picks up on Voldemort’s hurt and softens, almost apologetic. “You have your nice moments. But I don’t know what to expect from you, sometimes.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“I trust you as much as I can trust a person who’d murder my family and friends if I weren’t going through with this courtship,” Harry snaps. 

Voldemort doesn’t quite recoil from the sudden vitriol, but it’s a close thing.

“I…”

“You have a point,” Voldemort says. Then, “I think we should sleep in separate beds tonight.”

“No!” Harry says, too quickly. He flushes immediately after and his gaze flicks downwards. “I’m sorry. I do trust you-- I want to.”

Voldemort considers him. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.” Harry nods once, to himself. “I’m sure.” He peers up at Voldemort through his lashes. He must be doing that on purpose-- that enticing expression. “Just… not both at once?”

It is impossible to resist tipping forward and pressing Harry backward into the blankets. Harry goes willingly, shivering when he meets the dark promise in Voldemort’s heated gaze. 

“Okay,” Harry says, short of breath. “So you’re going to-- this is actually--”

Voldemort captures his lips before he can say anything more inane. Harry was made for him, Voldemort thinks hungrily, he opens up so beautifully beneath Voldemort; Voldemort rocks into the cradle of his hips and he meets the motion, wonderful and responsive. Voldemort collects Harry’s small, stuttered sounds of pleasure, and then as Harry catches his breath, Voldemort peppers kisses over his flushed face and moves downward to mouth at his soft throat.

Triumph surges through Voldemort when Harry tilts his head to bare his neck further. It is a show of trust-- one that Voldemort will plunder and protect.

* * *

“You do know what you’re doing, right?” Harry manages, breathless.

“Of course,” Voldemort groans. He pushes his hips forward, and Harry arches upward with a small moan. After a few torturous minutes, he sinks into the hilt, and then stills, to let Harry adjust.

“Ah,” Harry gasps. “Don’t move.”

“I’m not moving,” Voldemort grumbles. “I’m doing exactly what the book said.”

Harry lets out a startled laugh, clenching involuntarily around him, and Voldemort closes his eyes. He is a Dark Lord. He will not come before his partner.

“Hey, it’s my first time too,” Harry says, mistaking Voldemort’s crumbling willpower for embarrassment.

Voldemort drops his head next to Harry’s. One of Harry’s hands is stroking up and down Voldemort’s back, and the other is holding onto Voldemort’s bicep; it’s distracting. “I think you should be on top.”

“Why?”

Voldemort turns his head to the side to nose at Harry’s wild hair. “I don’t want to start thrusting before you’re ready,” he confesses, his lips brushing the shell of Harry’s ear. Harry shivers, clenching again. Voldemort jerks reflexively and curses.

Harry thinks of how skinny he is and how knobby his knees are and how he feels safer beneath Voldemort, where most of him can’t be seen-- but Voldemort is making such an effort for him. And a little thrill shoots through him as he considers the idea of taking control.

“Okay,” Harry agrees.

* * *

“Ew,” Harry says, after a while. “You’re sweaty.”

“So get off of me then,” Voldemort tells him, his mind fuzzy. His eyes almost fall shut, but he forces them to stay open. He needs to make sure Harry is not injured.

“Oh, we’ve already gotten off,” Harry says lightly, and then he giggles. His little movements jostle Voldemort, who’s laying beneath him.

“Ugh,” Voldemort protests.

Harry buries his face into Voldemort’s chest. “Was it good?”

“Of course,” Voldemort rouses himself enough to say. He hates that note of insecurity in Harry’s voice. “You were phenomenal. I can barely move--”

“But you just laid there!” Harry interjects.

“--was it good for you? You were more quiet than I expected.”

Harry props his chin on Voldemort’s left pectoral. He smiles, radiant. “I liked it. But isn’t making a lot of sound-- awkward?”

“I want to hear you more,” Voldemort complains. “Would you turn your head to the side? Your chin is poking me.”

Harry obliges.

Voldemort is going soft in Harry, and some of his semen is leaking out where they’re still joined. Neither of them make a move to separate.

“Everything’s sticky,” Harry mumbles.

“Scourgify,” Voldemort tries. He musters the last of his energy. “ _Scourgify._ ”


End file.
